


Drug Dealer Chic

by orphan_account



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Domestic, M/M, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2016-05-16
Packaged: 2018-06-08 19:29:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6870493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The eternal proof that romance isn't dead.</p><p> </p><p>ft. garage sales & America's Next Top Model marathons</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drug Dealer Chic

**Author's Note:**

> uhhhh ..... yeah, i can't explain this monstrosity of happiness.

“This is sort of gross.” Tooru had told him as he poked at a cardboard box, laden with seventeen DVD copies of _Bambi_. He gave an appraisal of the scene, and bit at the inside of his mouth in annoyance.

“It’s a garage sale,” Hajime muttered.

“It’s still gross, though.” whined Tooru. He threw his head back and adjusted his sunglasses, perched on top of his head, before folding his arms once more and trailing beside Hajime in an all too desperate fashion.

“Part of its charm.” replied Hajime as he thrust his hands in his jean pockets, eyes scouring the wares on a folding table.

“It’s a collection of trash in someone’s yard,” Tooru said, “I just saw someone selling a can of soup— of _soup_ , Hajime.”

Hajime shrugged, and to Tooru’s dismay, he slowed down and leaned forward to study one particular stall with avid interest. His eyes trained on a cardboard fruit box— Chiquita bananas— and he crouched down towards it before pulling out a dingy string of Christmas lights.

“They’re hideous,” Tooru groaned as he lowered himself to sit behind Hajime, nearly tipping over merely once, “C’mon, Hajime— there’s no way in hell I’m letting you buy _those_.”

“That’s a shame. I would have gotten you them for your birthday.”

Tooru gasped and clutched at his chest.

“You _wouldn’t_.”

“Oh, I _would_.” scoffed Hajime.

“They probably don’t even work!”

Hajime shrugged and eyed the price tag.

“They’re pretty cheap, though.” he told Tooru.

“Oh,” drawled Tooru, “ _Well_ — fine, then! I finally see the light! Thank you, oh great Iwaizumi—”

“Fuck off,” snorted Hajime, “I’m buying them. Watch and learn.” he told Tooru before turning to the stall holder— a middle aged, red-faced man— and jutting his chin up, “How much?”

“Six hundred yen.”

Hajime looked back at Tooru with a dubious expression before toying with the box with forced idleness. It was a little wet around the corner, and stained yellow.

“ _Six hundred_? I’ll give you three hundred and fifty.” he told the man.

“Six hundred—they work.”

“Three hundred,” Hajime insisted as he lowered his head and shot up an imploring look towards the man, “It’s _May_ , and you’ll be packing up soon. If you won’t sell it now, you sure as hell won’t—”

“Four hundred, then.” the man replied, holding out his palm.

Hajime grinned.

“Sure,” he said. He dug into his jean pocket and fished out some bills. Slapping his knees as he stood, Hajime grinned at Tooru before collecting his change and holding the triumphant prize.

“You just learned from the master.” he told him.

“I’m blessed.” drawled Tooru, as he strolled beside Hajime, “I’m bored— let’s go home. _America’s Next Top model_ is on tonight, and I need to see if that bitch Samantha will get through to the next round. I swear to you, if she does—”

“Yeah, yeah,” muttered Hajime before slowly coming to a halt once more. His head turned, and he took sight of a smaller fold-up table. His eyes darted once more about the various boxes with interest.

Tooru groaned once more.

“Oh my _God_ ,” he exclaimed, “You’re not seriously going to buy something _again_ —”

“Maybe— hey, listen,” conceded Hajime as he rubbed at his jaw— nervous habit— and ducked away from Tooru’s gaze, “Hey, take the lights—”

“I told you I don’t want them!”

“ _Take the lights_ and go to the car.”

Tooru pouted a little, pulling his lips to one side.

“Fine,” he sighed, “I’m warning you, though; if I miss tonight’s episode, I’m marathoning the entire season tomorrow, and _you’ll_ watch it with me.”

“Why would I—”

“Because you care about me and love me and want me to be happy—”

“Okay, okay! I’ll be quick!” Hajime shouted and shoved the stained, moist box containing the lights into Tooru’s hands.

Tooru grinned before leaning closer towards Hajime and kissing him sloppily on the cheek.

“Thank you,” he cooed, “I _love you_ —”

“Jesus Christ, just leave!”

 

Tooru slumped against Hajime on the sofa as Hajime stroked along his thigh. His other hand was tangled in Tooru’s hair, fingers carding through it restlessly. He stared down at Tooru’s face, and watched how the reflections of the T.V. distorted Tooru’s features; they made them seem shaper, more defined. It made Hajime’s heart ache. He could see Tooru’s pleased expression, his faint smile, and how his skin was lathered in his favourite product— the far too expensive kind that he only wore when he was sure no one would see him— and how his glasses were perched on his nose.

“Because I’m _fierce_! When I fail, I get up and try again, Samantha!” Tyra exclaimed. Her voice gravelled through the loud speakers and echoed in their small living room. Tooru snorted at the scene unravelling on the screen.

It was domestic. Hajime’s palms grew sweaty, and his body tensed at the sound of Tooru’s utterly embarrassing laugh.

He could pinpoint the moment all the strings inside him broke.

Pushing Tooru off of him, he lifted himself up from the sofa. Tooru did not turn towards him; his eyes remained trained on the screen.

“Samantha,” Tyra announced, “Why do _you_ deserve to be _America’s Next Top Model_?”

“You don’t, bitch,” muttered Tooru under his breath.

Hajime licked his lips and cleared his throat. Tooru turned his head, then, and watched Hajime kneel down before him. He held a plain, golden band between his fingertips.

Tooru froze.

“Samantha,” spoke Tyra, “I do not have a photo for you today.”

Tooru did not move.

Hajime trembled.

Weakly, with shaking hands, Tooru reached forward to take the ring out of Hajime’s grip.

“Is this—”

“Yes,” Hajime finished.

Tooru nodded. Hajime shifted awkwardly.

“Did you barter for it?”

“What?” Hajime sighed.

“Did you barter for it,” Tooru breathed, “Or did you pay full price? You bought it at the garage sale, right?”

Hajime swallowed thickly.

“I— I didn’t barter,” he stammered, “And I swear to you, I cleaned it— _a lot_! I mean, I asked Tetsuro what chemicals I should use, so you can complain to him if you get a rash or something—”

“Who says I’ll even wear it?”

Hajime’s heart stopped.

“You— you won’t? I mean, you don’t have to! I can buy you another one, or we could— we could pretend this didn’t happen— Jesus, _fuck_ — I’m sorry—”

“I mean, I’ll _marry_ you— of course I will— but I really want this disinfected before,” drawled Tooru, biting back a smile, “What if someone _died_ while wearing this?”

Hajime exhaled a shaking breath.

“You _fucker_ ,” he hissed, “You dirty _bastard_!”

Hajime shot forward, then, and tackled a giggling Tooru to the sofa. He pressed his forehead into the crook of Tooru’s neck, and his eyes stung behind closed lids.

“Seriously, though— how much did it cost?”

**Author's Note:**

> yell at me on my tumblr @ reminscees


End file.
